Dad.

It's tomorrow. The day I've wanted to avoid since February 8th. Father's Day.

Dad was the kind of man who picked me up from the bus station at 5am, when I was getting in from an overnight from New York. One of the days he did this was on Father's Day, even though he was sick. The one day of the year where he's supposed to be getting the special treatment - and instead he chose to put his daughter first, despite everything else in his life.

I haven't wanted to blog since it happened. I haven't wanted to do anything as passionately as I used to, really. Losing a parent, I've realized over these past few months, is probably the hardest thing in the world. It makes you ache on a daily basis, sometimes many times a day. You feel guilty, that even after all this time, you still want to cry, hide, and be angry. You feel particularly guilty for the people who are extremely close to you, that they on some level, have to go through it as well, since it's something you're still going through. It's been just over four months, and it's still hard going to auditions, going to work, and just getting from one day to the next. 

Since it happened, I've lost a part of myself that I'm worried I won't get back. I feel like I've lost a lot of compassion and patience in general, and that I'm less passionate about doing things I love. I don't try as hard as I used to. I find I have a harder time genuinely listening to others, and my self-esteem has plummeted. I feel like I've lost close friends, not because they don't care, but because they don't know what to say, or how to help.

I want things to go back to normal. But apparently from what I hear, normal then, isn't normal now. And I don't know how to adjust to "normal now" yet. Even after four months. I miss the passionate, driven girl I used to be. And while that girl hasn't gone away completely, I just don't have the same ambition as I did. I want it back so desperately and don't know how to find it again.

I miss my Dad so much. Sometimes I still pick up the phone thinking I'll hear his voice. Sometimes I still expect him to show up when I sing or perform somewhere, with his harmonica around his neck and a fedora on his head. I need to hear him tell me I'm 'Esther "Broadway" Vallins', and how he's so proud of me, his talented daughter. I don't feel that way anymore.

I'm sure this day every year will get a little less difficult as time goes on. But as for tomorrow - I'm not ready.